


tequila, teasing, and torture

by kiyoooooooomi (hoetaku97)



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Drunken Confessions, Gay Panic, M/M, Mutual Pining, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-15
Updated: 2021-02-15
Packaged: 2021-03-17 10:27:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,771
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29470191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hoetaku97/pseuds/kiyoooooooomi
Summary: At first, he had been reluctant to join them for drinks at all. Sakusa doesn’t usually participate in team outings, but Atsumu was a man on a mission. He was determined to bring Sakusa out with them. Tonight, he was going to make a move.
Relationships: Miya Atsumu/Sakusa Kiyoomi
Comments: 8
Kudos: 167





	tequila, teasing, and torture

“I had the biggest crush on you in high school, did you know that?”

Sakusa Kiyoomi is drunk, and Miya Atsumu is stunned silent. In the lowlight of the izakaya, Sakusa has been steadily pounding shots one after another in rapid succession, while Bokuto and Hinata chant his name and slam their fists on the table in encouragement. At first, he had been reluctant to join them for drinks at all. Sakusa doesn’t usually participate in team outings, but Atsumu was a man on a mission. He was determined to bring Sakusa out with them. Tonight, he was going to make a move.

_ C’mon Omi-kun, what do you have waitin’ at home that’s so important? Your stupid succulents can wait _ , Atsumu had said, slinking an arm around Sakusa’s shoulders.

_ I don’t need a reason to go to my own home, Miya,  _ Sakusa had retorted, brushing off Atsumu’s arm, but hurried along after them regardless.

Now, Atsumu is realizing he made a  _ serious  _ miscalculation. He hadn’t accounted for the easy smiles that Sakusa throws his way. He hadn’t accounted for the pink flush that dusts his cheeks, or the way he drapes himself over Atsumu while he speaks, leaning in so close that Atsumu can smell the sake on his breath. Somehow over the course of the evening, the tops buttons of his shirt had come undone, exposing his prominent collar bones and the moles that dot the crook of his neck. His pants are so tight Atsumu is half-convinced that Sakusa had to sew himself in with needle and thread and suddenly Atsumu almost wishes Sakusa hadn’t come along at all because  _ what the fuck? _

The bastard has always been pretty, but tonight he looks  _ obscene,  _ the way his eyelids hang low to give him some sort of cross between bedroom eyes and exhaustion, the way he licks his lips, the way his stare lingers for just a moment too long, the way his muscles flex under his shirt, the way his ass has the fabric of his pants pulled so taught they look ready to bust right down the seams and give way to sculpted marble—

Atsumu shakes his head to dismiss the train of thought. He’s overwhelmed. It’s overwhelming. All of it. All of  _ him. _

Sakusa takes another sip of his drink and props himself up on Atsumu’s shoulder, leaning in close to his face. “I always thought you were so handsome. You’re kind of an asshole, but a really pretty asshole. But, then again,” Sakusa, in an act of violence, taps one finger against his bottom lip in a gesture of mock-thought, and Atsumu quivers in fear, “maybe I always liked that about you. Makes you easy to talk to.”

Atsumu wants to get out from under his arm, he wants to bolt out the front door, he wants to run to the other end of Osaka, anything to get away from this  _ menace. _ This can’t be good for Atsumu’s heart. He’s lovestruck and horny and Sakusa’s got him like a fly caught in the trap, right where he wants him, and Atsumu is positive the bastard knows it too. Atsumu went into this night wholeheartedly believing he had the upper hand, that it would be poor Omi-kun left a blushing mess, but then came Shouyou, an agent of chaos armed with tequila and long lashes and  _ Please, Omi-san. _ Atsumu would pay Shouyou back for this dearly, somehow. Shouyou would answer for these high crimes.

“‘Tsumu.” 

_ What the fuck what the fuck what the fuck. _

Sakusa, the fucking fiend, lifts up Atsumu’s left hand to gently cradle it in his own, lightly tracing the lines of his palm with his long, slender finger.

“Always wanted to touch your hands. I wondered what it would feel like.” 

“And? What does it feel like?” Atsumu  _ squeaks,  _ praying that god will strike him down where he sits. Their teammates around the table have long abandoned their efforts at pretending not to notice the spectacle in the corner, watching with wide eyes as Sakusa studies Atsumu’s palm like specimen in the lab for observation, like he has an eighteen page paper due on it at the end of the evening, like it holds the secret of the reason for humanity’s very existence.

“It’s rough. Calloused.” Sakusa studies it for a minute more, before coming to a decision. “I like it.”

He doesn’t let go of Atsumu’s hand. In his drunken state, he lifts Atsumu’s hand and presses it to his cheek, looking Atsumu directly in his eyes, staring at him with the most serious and perplexed expression. 

“It’s warm.”

Atsumu is going to go into cardiac arrest. Shouyou has his cellphone in hand, ready to call an ambulance at a moment’s notice. Maybe Atsumu will forgive him for the shots.

“You’re warm too, Omi-kun,” Atsumu says softly, and it’s true. The heat from his cheek is scalding.

Sakusa  _ smiles,  _ an honest to god wide, toothy grin. His eyes crinkle at the corners and he looks at least six years younger like this, the pure joy in his expression aging him backwards. Atsumu has the fleeting thought that he wants all of Sakusa’s smiles like that to belong to him and him alone, his chest tightening with affection.

“Tsum-Tsum, are you okay? You’re pretty red.” Bokuto puts a concerned hand on Atsumu’s shoulder. 

“I’m fine. ‘S just really hot in here.” Atsumu is done asking god for favors, he prays the devil will drag him by his ankles into the deepest depths of the earth, straight to hell. Shit, Sakusa might do it himself, seeing as he’s trying to murder Atsumu and send him on the fast track to the fiery pit.

“Maybe you should go home, Atsumu-san,” Shoyou pipes up from his seat beside Inunaki.

“Great idea, Hinata,” Sakusa rises unsteadily to his feet, dragging Atsumu along with him, almost knocking them both straight back down in the process. “I’ll walk him home. We’ll see you all on Monday.”

Atsumu, rendered completely speechless by this sudden turn of events, throws a quick wave over his shoulder, as he’s dragged out into the cold night air by his hand.

His hand. His hand that is being held. His hand that is being held by Sakusa Kiyoomi.

Sakusa stops on the sidewalk, fishing in his duffel for something, and smiling triumphantly when he pulls out a long, black scarf. He wraps it arounds Atsumu’s neck carefully, slowly, as he sways this way and that on his feet.

“So you don’t get cold.”

“Thanks, Omi-kun,” Atsumu says, suddenly feeling shy at being the object of such consideration.

Sakusa takes Atsumu’s hand in his again, pulling Atsumu along behind him, despite the fact that it should really be Atsumu taking the lead, considering his sobriety. Atsumu is ashamed to admit he was so caught up in watching Sakusa drink that he was too busy to drink himself. It was fascinating to watch, in his defense, the way his nose scrunched at the burn in the alcohol and the way he so easily kept up with Bokuto and Shouyou. College Omi must have been a  _ riot. _

“You’re not wearin’ your mask,” Atsumu realizes suddenly, and stupidly says out loud.

Sakusa raises one hand to touch his cheek, and finding no cloth protecting it, shrugs. “Oh. Huh. I guess not.”

Atsumu doesn’t mind. Actually, maybe he does. It would be easier to look at Sakusa dead on if there was something concealing that small, content smile that graces his lips. He looks happy. A voice in Atsumu’s head conspiratorially wonders if he has anything to do with Sakusa’s peaceful expression.

Finally, with the dorms in sight, Atsumu sees a reprieve from this madness. He is far too gay and far too sensitive to be teased and tortured the way Sakusa’s been doing all evening and he wants his bed.

They enter the large double doors and the elevator is there waiting. Atsumu presses the button for his floor, but Sakusa makes no move to do the same.

Atsumu eyes him curiously, wondering if he just forgot. Sakusa notices.

“I’m coming with you.”

“Why?”

“To make sure you get there okay,” Sakusa slurs, very seriously.

“Omi-kun, I’m not even drunk.”

“Then why are you so red?”

Atsumu has no response to that, staring down at his feet instead. Embarrassment floods his face, somehow making his cheeks impossibly hotter.

“See, look,” Sakusa says, sticking a finger in Atsumu’s face to emphasize his point. 

Not a moment too soon, the elevator doors, in all their mercy, open wide. Sakusa is still holding his hand, stumbling a little, but letting Atsumu guide him. Sakusa’s dark hair takes an almost green tint under the harsh, fluorescent walls, and he looks so angelic, like he couldn’t possibly belong here among the dirty tile and chipped paint. He’s humming happily to himself as they walk, and Atsumu thinks he could have gone his entire life without knowing this side of Sakusa. Dealing with his big fat gay crush will be significantly more difficult after tonight, and it would be easier if he was completely oblivious to the warmth of Drunk Sakusa.

Seventh door on the right, Atsumu sticks his key in the knob and turns. 

Atsumu crosses the threshold, and Sakusa follows hot on his heels. 

“Okay, Omi-kun. I’m home safe. You can go to bed now.”

Instead of answering, Sakusa flops onto his bed. “Tired, ‘Tsumu. Let me sleep here,” Sakusa says, his voice muffled by his face smushed into the sheets.

Sakusa is a big drunk baby and Atsumu is trapped in his own waking nightmare. He can’t, he can’t sleep here, Atsumu is in love with him and he needs to  _ leave _ .

Sakusa rolls onto his side, opening up his arms wide and inviting. “Come here. I’m cold.”

_ No, bad idea. _ “Okay.”

Atsumu slides in beside Sakusa, stiff as a board. He’s a deer in headlights. He can’t move. Sakusa squeezes him tight and pulls him flush against his own body, swinging one long leg over his hips. Atsumu narrowly suppresses a scream.

“‘Tsumu?” Sakusa says from above him, where his face is buried in Atsumu’s hair.

“Yeah?”

“Is this okay?”

“Yeah, Omi-kun.”

A long pause.

“‘Tsumu?”

“Yeah?”

“I like you, is that okay?”

Atsumu freezes. He wonders for a moment if he’s having a vivid hallucination. Then, he laughs, and suddenly he can’t stop laughing. “I like you too, Omi-kun. Go to sleep.”

“Mmkay, night ‘Tsumu.”

Sakusa falls asleep shortly after, snoring and drooling all over Atsumu in his tequila slumber, but Atsumu can’t bring himself to mind all that much.

  
  
  
  
  
  



End file.
